Vanishing Traces
by sowrongit'srachel
Summary: An open-and-shut bodyguard job turns out to be one of the most personal cases Joe has ever faced. Frank's life is on the line, and Joe must meet the demands of an elusive serial killer in order to save him.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Just a small warning, it's rated T for now. That may change, but not yet. However, thar be language ahead, and possible adult themes in the future. "Viewer discretion is advised."**

Seventeen-year-old Joe Hardy strode alongside his older brother, Frank, as they walked back to their hotel room. They'd just left a meal with their latest client, celebrating yet another job well done, another life saved, another criminal behind bars. Their undercover work brought a lot of heartache, but tonight's mood was light-hearted. For once, a case had been completely clean and virtually free of any trouble. Joe was grateful for this, and he was absolutely positive Frank was, too.

Not that Frank had said much since they'd left their client, Ms. Whedon's, place. In fact, despite Joe's excited chattering and rambling, he was eerily nonresponsive. The only tell Joe had that his brother was even still conscious was that he was still walking at the same pace.

"Earth to Frank?" Joe teased, waving a hand in front of the eighteen-year-old's face. He jumped, torn from his weird trance. "What, were you having dirty thoughts about a certain red-haired part-time investigator again?"

Frank groaned in response. "Shut up, Joe," he croaked, shooting the blond one of his "not amused" glares. "Can we just get back to the room? I'm beat." Something about his tone tipped the younger one off. He sounded . . . off, somehow. Joe took a second to really examine his brother under the glow of the streetlights.

The studious brunet was shockingly pale, forehead gleaming with sweat underneath the lowlight, and his eyes were glassy and bloodshot. In short, he looked terrible. Joe sighed, wishing he'd seen it earlier. "Alright, how long have you been feeling sick?"

Frank squinted and rubbed his forehead, "Not long actually. It came on really fast," he faltered as his knees buckled and his legs gave out. Joe quickly caught him and draped the teenager's arm around his shoulders, supporting him from under his shoulder blades.

"Shit," Joe muttered under his breath. "We need to get you back to the room. Come on, just keep walking." He cursed again as he struggled to carry his brother's weight. "Work with me, please."

Frank was downright incoherent now, most likely due to the rising fever radiating from his unusually dry skin. Joe tried his hardest to ignore the panic growing in his stomach, the gnawing pit that told him something was seriously _wrong _with Frank, and it wasn't just a little bug either. He put all his focus into guiding Frank the last couple of blocks to the hotel.

They didn't make it that far.

Before he really knew what was happening, Frank leaned forward and vomited all over Joe's pants and shoes. His eyes rolled back into his head and he dropped to the ground. Luckily, Joe caught him before his head smacked against the concrete.

He gently laid Frank down on his back and felt for a pulse. Letting out a sigh of relief when he found one, he pulled out his agency-issued cell phone and dialed the three-digit emergency number he knew too well.


	2. Chapter 2

Joe sat by the cot in the emergency room, watching his brother like a hawk. His eyelids had yet to even flutter, and he'd shown no other sign of regaining consciousness. He pounded his fists against his knees as he observed the nurses and doctors rushing around the crowded exam area, wishing one of them would pay attention to Frank.

When one finally did walk over to check Frank's vitals, Joe's anxiety calmed slightly. At least someone else was watching now, and he didn't have to keep quite the eagle eye over the brunet. It was a tiny relief, but relief nonetheless, and Joe welcomed it with open arms.

More attendants came over to administer intravenous fluids and place cooling agents on his burning skin, and Joe paid them no mind now that they were doing their job.

He felt himself dozing off, only to be jolted awake by the rapid beeping of the vitals monitor hooked up to Frank, sending out some kind of obnoxious alarm that something was going haywire. His eyes darted around the small exam area to see nurses flooding the space around his brother, who was convulsing violently on the cot.

"Shit, he's seizing!" one of the nurses cursed, grabbing a tongue depressor and reaching out to hold him down. "I need ten milligrams of diazepam, stat!"

Someone else pushed Joe out of their way and closed the curtain behind them, leaving him out in the middle of the ER completely shell-shocked and dazed.

* * *

Joe wrung his hands as he sat alone in the waiting room, jumping every time someone in scrubs or a lab coat walked by. The worry and dread were burning a hole in his gut, and his mind reeled with all sorts of new crazy imagery. He knew he got too jittery in these situations. His imagination always ran wild with the worst case scenarios. Nightmares of cardiac arrest, Patient X-style infections, and brain tumors taunted him as the clock on the wall kept ticking away. _Maybe this time, it _is_ lupus! _

He mentally smacked himself. He _knew _how ridiculous these thoughts were, but he couldn't help himself. For once in his life, the rock that was Frank wasn't there to give him the ever-comforting voice of reason. And he couldn't stand knowing that.

No. Frank was okay. He _had _to be. He-

"Kin of Frank Hardy?" a gruff voice called out, tearing Joe from his thoughts. Joe nodded and stood up to walk over to the doctor. "I'm Dr. Abrams. Let's take a walk," the man nodded toward the doorway behind him and walked back through it, Joe at his heels.

He sighed, "Your brother experienced a generalized tonic-clonic seizure, otherwise known as a grand mal seizure. These are common, usually relatively simple to treat, and result in painless recoveries. However, he went into status epilepticus, a very dangerous condition where the seizure lasts too long and the brain runs the risk of not being able to stop the seizure on its own. We administered benzodiazepines and were able to stop his episode."

"That's good, though, right?" Joe asked hopefully.

"Yes, but that's not what I'm worried about. Frank is a very healthy young man with no history of epilepsy or any other similar condition. For him to even have a seizure, let alone one so severe, is quite strange."

Joe nodded solemnly in response, "Do you have any idea what's wrong with him?"

"We're still running tests, but I'll let you know what we find. We're keeping him under sedation for the time being; until his condition improves."

Dr. Abrams came to a stop outside one of the rooms and led Joe inside. He choked back a yelp when his eyes found Frank, lying pale and fragile on the stark white bed in the middle of the room. He was hooked up to all kinds of large, humming machines, and god, Joe could hardly bare the sight of it. The younger blond closed the gap between him and the bed and gripped Frank's hand, squeezing tight. Frank would probably tease Joe about this later, but right now that didn't matter. He just felt like it was the only thing – besides the machines – assuring him that Frank was still in there.

"This can't be happening…" Joe mumbled quietly. He rubbed his other palm over his face, trying to absorb everything. "What am I going to tell Mom and Dad?"

Joe sighed as exhaustion from the last several hours finally hit him like a freight train. Spending all night in the waiting room had him running on a potent cocktail of adrenaline and caffeine, and now all the energy was gone. He was about to crash – _hard. _But he couldn't let himself. He needed to be there for Frank, when he woke up… No "ifs" about it.

**A/N: ****Wasn't really planning on updating this so soon, but oh well. Anyways, the story's still kind of setting up. It'll get more interesting, I promise :) Thanks for reading! **


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